"I wish I were for your sake," Dick replied, with an adoring glance, and a kiss on the hand which he held. "And to think that this absurdly small hand wrote those beautiful letters."
"You didn't suppose I had an amanuensis, did you?" laughed May.
Then Dick laughed, and together they both laughed, overpowered by the exquisite wit of this fine jest.
"Really, though," Dick said, "they came to me like a revelation. I never had such letters before!"
May drew away her hand, and sat upright with an air of offended surprise.
"Well, I should hope you never did!" she cried. "The idea of any other woman's daring to write to you!"
"But you were writing to a stranger; some other woman—"
"Now, Richard," declared May resolutely, "this has got to be settled right here. If you are going to twit me all my life with having written to you—"
He effectually stopped her speech.
"I'll never speak of it again," he said; "or at least only just often enough so that it shan't be entirely forgotten."